Blue Ink on Pale Skin
by mskiki
Summary: He'd seen it when he was on his way to the watch tower early one morning. Carol was awake, pulling on a shirt as he passed her cell and he'd turned his head out of respect. But something caught his eye before he turned, something that had him glancing back to watch skin disappear beneath fabric. Carol; sweet, quiet, straight-and-narrow Carol, had a tattoo. Light Carol/Daryl.


This story contains mild adult language, minimal allusions to violence, and some light Carol/Daryl.

* * *

He had seen it when he was on his way to watch early one morning before dawn. Despite the ungodly hour, Carol was awake and standing in her cell with her back turned to him. Her hair was shades darker and slicked back, and the beads of water running down her skinny arms. This, and the bowl and rag sitting near her feet, relayed that she had used the other's sleep as a time to wash up in private. She was pulling on a new shirt as Daryl passed and he'd turned his head quickly out of respect. But something caught Daryl's eye before he turned, something that had him glancing back to watch her skin disappear beneath faded green fabric.

Carol; sweet, quiet, straight-and-narrow Carol, had a tattoo.

He'd barely caught a glimpse of the little blue shape before she'd dressed, but the sight of it and her bare skin put quickness to his step. He half ran out of the building, not daring to look back to see if he'd been caught, and to the guard tower where he kicked out Glenn with more gruffness that usual. He was lucky the man was too tired, or maybe just too smart, to say anything about the redness of Daryl's cheeks.

The entire watch he tried not to think about it. He tried not to linger on the image of those lines burned on the forefront of his memory, and tried not think about beads of water rolling down bare skin. Tried not to connect that nakedness and that ink with the woman he'd spent so much time with over the past few months. The images contrasted so much with what he built her up to be in his mind, his proper and respectable friend, that he found himself oddly reeling from the discovery.

It'd not like he hadn't seen tattoos on women before. He'd seen plenty on the ones that Merle kicked out of his room in the middle of the night, trying to get dressed as they ran and eyes filled with disappointment. He'd seen some on the women regulars at the local bar and one on the neck of the flirty server at the barbeque place off of I-95. Hell, he'd seen plenty of woman walkers shuffling around with ink since the world went to shit. It was just that he thought of tattoos as something from his ilk, not from people like her.

But still he couldn't deny that it made him curious. Little Carol Peletier having a wild side excited him even if it was unexpected. It made that odd ache in his chest, the one that only appeared whenever he was around her, sharpen and grow. It was disconcerting, that the heavy feeling followed him around all morning as he paced around the guard tower platform. It followed him as the morning gave way into day and the sun beat down on him.

The curiosity and heaviness stuck with him even as his shift came to an end and Carol showed up to relieve him. Her arrival signaled a rise of awkwardness in him that he hadn't felt around the group since the Quarry. He tried to duck down the stairs without acknowledging her, but she caught him in the doorway with her disarming smile. She greeted him with an ease and lightness that made him feel dirty for thinking about her all morning the way he had. Eager to escape, he tried to get past her to the freedom of the prison yard. He put his hand on her back as he maneuvered around her, planting his palm right where he knew the tattoo sat. Once he realized it, he pulled away like she'd burned him to the bone. His reaction jostled and startled her.

"Daryl?" Carol asked quietly. She gave him that look she was so good at giving, that one that seemed specially designed to loosen tongues. A look that worked better on the others rather than him, but still made him squirm in his skin.

He didn't answer, just glanced down at her quickly and shifted to put a few more centimeters between them. Daryl stared at the open door and down the stairs still covered muck from their hostile takeover of the cell block.

"Is this about this morning?" She asked slowly and carefully, like she was weighing each word or speaking to a spooked animal.

The question cut through him, making the color return to his cheeks. But he stood a statue, staring holes in a blood stain on the third step.

"I saw you leaving," she explained.

"Sorry," he apologized. He focused on what he thought was a chunk of skin clinging to the wall.

"It didn't bother me," Carol said.

He whipped his head around to stare at her, both confused and wary. She caught his gaze and her lips twitched a little.

"It's not like we can expect much privacy nowadays. I've gotten used to some of the others seeing me half naked after how close we've had to live over the winter." Carol leaned against the wall, looking out the window facing the yard and back to him. She worked one of her shoulders slowly as she talked. "Still, I'm usually more careful about when and where I get dressed. I didn't think anyone would be awake to see me like that."

"It wasn't that," he grunted. The fact he spoke up surprised the both of them.

"Oh?"

He scratched his cheek, trying to hide how uncomfortable he felt with her attention on him. Part of him wanted to shake it off, ignore that he'd spoke, and just agree that it was her bare skin that made him so artless around her. But the way she stood across from him, eyes so unassuming and open made him pause. He knew that if he wanted to turn tail she'd let him and she wouldn't bring it up again. It gave him to push he needed to stay his ground.

"I saw your tattoo." He shuffled further into the room, reaching the entrance to the platform and purposely keeping his back to her.

"_Oh_?" She sounded amused.

"Just didn't think about you having one." Daryl shrugged.

"Is that a bad thing?" Carol challenged.

He shook his head. "What is it anyway? Didn't really get a good look."

"It's a hummingbird," she said.

He heard he move and he looked back to her in surprise. She had turned on her heels and pulled up the back of her shirt for him. He saw it again; midway down her back and close to her right side. It was tiny, delicate, and it stood out on her skinny frame where it stretched taut over her ribs. It was nothing more than a thin blue outline of a little bird in flight. She pushed her shirt back down after a few seconds and twirled back around. There was a certain pinkness to her cheeks he couldn't overlook, but didn't comment on.

He felt the embarrassment from earlier crawl back over him at the second sight of her naked skin, but she didn't let him wallow it for long. She started talking again, her tone wistful and her hands smoothing over her fabric at her sides.

"I got it the summer after I turned eighteen and thought I was some real hot stuff for it. It wasn't until later on I realized how girly it looked." She smiled at him knowingly. "It's nothing good like the ones you've got."

He knew that from where she was standing that she could see part of the demon on his shoulder peaking out of his sleeveless shirt. He flexed slightly, before catching himself and tucking his chin against his chest. He heard her laugh quietly behind him.

"I was drunk when I got 'em," he mumbled.

"So was I," she said. She grinned when he met her eyes in shock. "I had a past, you know. I wasn't always that woman you met in the quarry."

He soured, mind immediately going to that body she'd struck with that pickaxe back in Atlanta.

"Before Ed," she said softly, "I had a past before Ed. Back when I was young and wild."

"I can't imagine that." He folded his arms across his chest. "You being wild."

"Well, I was. I worried my poor mama half to death. I was obsessed with The Police and had the biggest crush on the singer." She giggled. "I told her I wanted to follow them around on tour, get in good with the boys and party with the band."

"You wanted to be a groupie?" Daryl laughed.

Her giggles turned into a full on laugh and she nodded. "I know, right? But that's what I thought I wanted. I thought that a tattoo would impress Sting and all my girlfriends agreed. Originally I was going to get his name, but Debbie Bradley talked me out of it and into getting the bird."

He shook his head at her, grinning.

"We got into so much trouble, me and those girls. We broke into the old Garret place one Friday night, hoped the fence and jimmied the door. We wanted to party in the spooky, abandoned house. Debbie invited a bunch of kids over from our old high school and some boys from Barwick. A few hours in and a keg later we'd gotten so loud and out of hand that one of the neighbors down the street called the cops." She came up beside him, bumping her shoulder into his arm. "We had to crawl out the kitchen window to avoid getting arrested. Three of the boys still ended up in lock up that night."

"What stopped you from going through with those big groupie plans?" Daryl asked, after she calmed down her laughter at the memory.

She pressed her lips together into a thin line and shook her head. She said, "I met Ed at that party."

They stood there for several minutes in a sobering silence. She motioned going outside, and he followed her onto the platform where he watched her survey the perimeter with a tight expression. He felt a little like an ass for bringing down the mood and mistakenly bringing up her dead husband. He itched to do something to smooth it over, but he drew a blank.

After a long time, she spoke up again. "As much trouble as we'd get into and as silly as I was back then, I miss those days."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Carol confirmed, "I always wanted to get another tattoo. Maybe get it somewhere more visible. Something better and bolder than my little blue hummingbird."

"The one you've got ain't so bad," Daryl said, "It fits you."

"How do you figure?" Carol asked with one eyebrow arched high.

He scratched his cheek again, feeling embarrassment settle over him yet again and that ache in his chest return. Daryl shuffled in place awkwardly and turned his body from her slightly. He felt her patient gaze on him and he kept his eyes on his feet as he summoned the will to answer. Finally, he muttered, "It's kind of pretty."

She was quiet for a long moment after he said it, and he raised his head just a bit to see her face. She was smiling at him sweetly. There was something in her eyes that was soft and familiar and loving, and it made an answering smile flit across his lips. She thanked him quietly, her words simple but genuinely heartfelt. He felt warmth spread over him that had nothing to do with the sun bearing down overhead.

They stood up there together for the rest of her shift in easy, comfortable silence. He didn't flinch whenever her arm brushed against his or when her elbow bumped his side. When her hand sat firmly atop his on the rail, he didn't run away from the pounding of his heart in his ears. He saw her smiling out of the corner of his eye, her face all lit up like the night sky on the Fourth of July. And the ache in his chest eased just a little.


End file.
